Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

At first, there was nothing. Always nothing.

Utter stillness. 

No sense of time or rhythm, no movement, no sights or sounds or smells, just calm, peaceful quiet. His body was heavy, his mind even more so, but his soul embraced the change. Thoughts were impossible in this place, there wasn’t a head that could hear them. 

It wasn’t the first time he was here. Silence wasn’t new to the boy’s soul, many times he was brought back here, to understand the meaning of being one with everything.

But never before had he been so disconnected, never had he embraced the void for this long. If his transistors were on, this quiet would be haunting, ethereal. But for now, it was inevitable. Calming.

It was nice, until-

“How are you feeling?”

The nothingness, the quiet, the serenity – all of it turned to ash as the murmurs above him tunneled through a young boy’s ears. That sound, so familiar, so lovely, burrowed into his mind as though it were a nematode, persistent and unrelenting. 

It wasn’t enough to rend him from the loving embrace of sleep, but he had to do that part on his own. Every second mattered now. 

So, he opened his eyes.

The edges of his world, bathed in an ochre glow, still looked murky and undefined as he struggled to wake, reality rippling outwards as though a brush had painted a thin layer of ink across.

“How’s the elasticity?” Echoed a voice, bright and airy, unweighted by the burdens of life. His mind registered another sound – light steps intertwined with the familiar sound of a metal knocking on wood, tapping against timber flooring.

The boy’s eyes adjusted to the soft, warm glint of the space he was in. It was a small, wooden area – rustic and familiar, made from stone and lumber, no larger than a classroom. As his vision cleared, he could see a figure, short and lively, darting from corner to corner, carrying various tools and equipment as she went.

Unlike the logs that made up this place, where he sat was hard and unfamiliar — an octagonal cut of marble more similar to a pillar than any stool or seat he knew of. 

The room was empty and quiet, missing the chaotic bustling he had grown accustomed to across his many, many tune ups. How odd, he thought to himself, the last thing he could remember before the silence was people. 

Lots of people. Too many people.

Scientists, experts, engineers…

Mechanics, doctors, priests…

Monks…

All swarming around him and carving into his circuitry, hooking up odd machinery to his body, programming him with the four immeasurables, teaching him the six perfections, embodying ten virtues…

Where had they gone? 

He would have pondered further, but the thought quickly died. As his vision sharpened, he noticed something —

His shape, his appearance, was…odd. 

Different.

Too different. Humanoid.

What he once knew as an apparatus, now became a human hand. Metallic clamps were now tendons, shafts became joints. The end-effector he was familiar with, that old, dependable thing he used to navigate, was replaced with a finely etched metacarpal. With knuckles, and digits, and arms. Limbs. Muscle. The boy couldn’t help but flex his fingers, admiring his newfound dexterity.

He took a moment to trace a… hand…across his new, unfamiliar form. He was dressed lightly, only sporting a simple beige shirt and trousers, only having socks for footwear. Beneath the thin woolen clothing, he could feel the dense, stalwart structure obscured beneath his garments.

His eyes narrowed in concentration, glinting strongly as he sifted through every compound he could think of. The mineral beneath his hands was strong, unyielding, made from something he had never seen. Passing his eye over himself once more, past his garments and beyond the thin layer of coating, he saw the molecular backbone of what made up his new form. No doubt about it, his new body was made of crystal.

Crystalline, and with a hexagonal lattice. Such wonderful symmetry, he thought, nature truly had an eye for these things. But too many elements matched that descriptor — quartz, beryl, tourmaline, zinc. The boy could tell he was made from something impossibly dense, must’ve been a type of diamond. But which one?

Surely, it had to be something he could find in the databases…

“Is the vibration level okay?” 

His determination faltered as a doctor kneeled before him, her prosthetic creaking in protest. She too, was dressed in humble garbs, covered only by a simple lab coat and shirt collar. Her frame, pale and thin, didn't fit her sense of vigor, he thought. A single wrong step could bring the end for her…

Her hair, short and pale, drifted to the side as she tilted her head, her good eye brimming with fondness. Her wonderful face, layered with scales and scars just like paillettes lovingly sewn onto fabric, reflected every bit of verve and spirit he had come to expect from her. Her expression, softly lit by the setting sun, was nothing but exuberant, filled with smile. And perhaps, something else. Something tired.

Long-suffering. 

His heart swelled, a feeling too alien, too chaotic and unpredictable for his tightly wound, perfectly ordered lattice that bound his mind and soul. Too human. The boy could feel something within him hum violently. Enough to shake him apart, finely cleave him in two, grind his shards to dust. To think in this day and age, she stood by to build him anew. Greet him. Dress him from head to toe…

She simply stared at him, almost blankly, as the silence stretched into something uncanny. Her bright smile had long faded into something quiet, more composed. Weary. He realized then —

—she must have been waiting for his answer. 

And he repaid her fortitude — her boundless tolerance — with nothing but awkward silence, too preoccupied with his inner dialogue to give her any acceptable response. Unbelievable. He thought dimly – he had a job he needed to do. Gone were the days where he could freely hesitate like this. 

His mind urged him to say something, anything.

“Everything seems normal, Professor Ayumu—” 

That isn’t all she is…

“ –I mean… mother.” He finished, briskly.

The professor’s face instantly brightened, her small smile bursting into a wide, brilliant grin. The moment the words “mother” left his lips and reached her ears, her eyes crinkled in joy, and she got up hastily, perking up at his words.

“Mhmm!” She hummed thoughtfully, pacing once more. “What a good boy! You’re the best son anyone could ask for!” She walked briskly towards the set of shudders, intent on continuing some repairs.

Something in him softened at her demeanor, a calming presence that almost drew him back to sleep. Almost.

He looked to the side, where she climbed upon a section of stone, fiddling with a metal shutter. He spoke carefully.

“I feel like I’ve been sleeping for a long time.”

“Of course!” The doctor answered, lifting the top-most slat. “You have been.”

He turned his head over, noting the large, tenebrous kimono that was draped across a wall. The burning question he wanted to ask returned to him, tempered by years of discipline.

“Where are the other team members?”

A sigh left her lips, pulling out a tool from a nearby box.

“It was no good, they’ve all left.” She groaned, climbing once more. “What an inconvenience.” As she slipped her fingers into the slats, screwdriver in tow, he held up his hands once more, sweeping another surveying gaze across his new body.

“My…” he began, overwhelmed by his newfound senses, “...appearance has changed considerably.”

She looked over her shoulder, flashing him a quick smirk just as she finished tightening a bolt.

“It’s cute, wouldn’t you agree?” She asked, giving him an appraising stare. She admired her handiwork for a few moments more before returning to the shutters. “I also made you more durable.”

“I’m glad.” He replied, as a white, eternally fluffy puppy scampered eagerly across the room, leaping onto his lap. Shiro… he thought to himself, my dear friend. It must have been a while since they had last seen each other — his canine companion must have missed him. He held the dog gingerly and caressed it lightly, almost in apology. The ball made from hopes and dreams paid his affection forward with many wet kisses, to his relief. All was forgiven!

Testing out his new legs, he cautiously stood up, gently hoisting the small creature between his arms. “The uniform?” he asked, taking a few tentative steps towards the kimono.

“Yes,” she replied, making a few final adjustments. “There’s no reason for it anymore…but it does look nice.” She let herself down gently, her prosthetic making a strong thud as she hit the ground stronger than she would have liked. She huffed, mildly exasperated, before facing him, making her way to a table beside the window. “Oh, could you get two goblets? Fetch some chips too, while you’re at it.”

He did as he was told, laying Shiro down and heading for the pantry. The small dog let out a yelp in protest before scurrying under the table. 

When he returned, she sat idly on an ordinary stool, casually resting her head on a bony arm while looking wistfully upon the window. As he placed the clear, indented goblets onto the table, she turned towards him once more, wordlessly opening her shirt collar. 

Her chest was finely sutured from an elaborate set of grafts, criss-crossing meshes of adhesives and stitches designed to guard her thoracic cavity. No matter, they were always easy to unfasten. Reaching past her ribs — past the fine network of tatting — her fingers took hold of a thin, clear plastic tube tightly wrapped across her sternum. She angled the tip downwards, filling one of the goblets with a vivid, vermillion substance. 

As she poured, he couldn’t help but notice the shiny red coating upon her fingernails, a bold, reflective color. When she had finished filling both goblets, she leaned over the table and offered one to him, reaching quite far. He held his hands up in subtle rejection. 

“Mother, please don’t waste your bodily fluids.”

Her face widened in surprise for a moment, before simply shrugging and settling back into her seat, sipping from her glass. She opened the bag of chips he had left on the table, pulling out a few.  “I had a dream that I was a mineral…” she said, munching them thoughtfully. “...weak, but…important.” She took another sip. “Perhaps I’ve simply gone mad from fiddling with my body too much.”

A few moments passed, for the boy truly had no words. The sun had fallen long ago, nightfall taking its place. Shadows began to cloak the room as the professor gave gave a small sigh, realizing she said far more than she meant to. 

“I apologize…” she lamented, her eyes downcast. “...that we are so foolish and pitiful.”

The boy blinked.

“I am…ashamed to be human. A species meeting its demise, unable to cooperate with each other. But…” The doctor continued, meeting the boy’s gaze as she leaned with a stern look. “If there’s one thing I’m proud of…it’s having birthed you.”

His heart stilled.

“Please forgive me for leaving you behind in an unfree state. I won’t let this be for Humanity’s sake. There will be a new world.”

The boy heard a distinct hiss high in the atmosphere, rippling outwards as it streaked across the night sky, painting it various shades of white and yellow. Bolides danced in cosmic rhythm, banishing shadow with starfall. 

It did not deter her, nothing would.

“A world for inorganic beings, considered to be slaves from inception, used one-sidedly for their entire existence. It is only now that I see the truth…” she murmured, placing down her glass. “After creating you, I realized life is going through a transitional period right now. By leaving you behind, I’m creating a bridge to that new world. A truly beautiful world of rationality.”

Her eyes met his, glistening like distant galaxies. Something about the sight made him weary.

“How arrogant of me, right?”

He could feel a subtle vibration as the meteors collided into the earth, cloaking the fields in flame and ash. One of the goblets toppled over, staining the wooden table with a deep, unforgettable crimson.

“This is all just a natural process,” she mused softly, enjoying the view. “I happened to be here by coincidence. Everything always changes, right?”

The boy couldn’t help it, her words blurred the edges of his thoughts together. His eyes fluttered.

“Ah, humanity is so tragic. Just because they can’t rely on themselves, they have to find meaning in everything just to keep up appearances. Oh… are you sleepy?”

It was if his head was underwater, everything was muffled, the wisps of her voice barely reaching him. The darkness called for him once more. Still, he could see her in his bleary vision, her expression softening into a small smile.

“Have a good rest…”

He was almost pulled into the umber depths…

“Oh, one more thing.”

She wasn’t quite done with him yet. As his eyes widened once more, she was right in front of him, her expression grave and reverent. Something warm started to drip from his head, did she paint him again?

“Once you’re on the other side…” she whispered, passing a bony hand over his forehead, “burn the bridge.” 

She then pressed her lips to the boy’s temple, the sheer weight of it sending ripples cascading against his mercurial surface. 

“But, of course…” she sighed, settling back into her seat. “...that was meant for my son.”

He blinked.

Your…son?

That wasn’t right, wasn’t he still her son?

Chapter Text

Just then, it seemed a veil had been pulled from his eyes, revealing the stained truth hidden beneath.

The woman in front of him, mother, leaned firmly against her chair, completely unperturbed. She did not buckle under the weight of her words, nor did she bat an eye at the comets tearing her realm apart.

But of course…that was for my son…

What did she mean by that? Was he not her son?

He was! He is. He thought, therefore he was. He couldn’t remember anything else. “Was” was everything he knew!

Every word, every meteor, every repair…

Everything, everyone…

His job… All of it led to this. A prayer machine. Her son.

…that’s all I am…?

He scowled – such traitorous thinking had no place in this world. Wasn’t her son? 

Who gave her the right to decide that? He knew himself best, he always knew. She built him from scraps and dust! 

If that’s what I had to be…I’d rather break!

He shook his head, ridding himself of this lunacy. This was his destiny; nothing about it was meant to be cruel. It just was.

Who gave her the right to call him anything else? Something deep inside him, old and primal, screamed in indignation.

But the thought lingered, festered like a putrescent, maggot-ridden wound. As always, his mind was dancing circles around him, trying to pry him from cold, hard reality. He was hers, and she was his – it had always been that way. 

His alloy sloughed off, piling up on the wooden floor. The floor gleamed silver as the remains of his feet slipped past the chair he sat on, through the floorboard gaps.

It must be nonsense. 

For once, he agreed with his inner self. No other word could describe the inconceivability of it. It was all nonsense. He knew his name, he knew what he had to do. 

“...can you pray for me?”

His head throbbed under the weight of the sudden memory. He had heard countless men ask for prayers. It changed little. It meant even less…

“I am sorry.”

So why…?

“then…”

Why couldn’t he convince himself?

It’d be too painful…just let me break…

Why did her words ring true?

“...just break already!!!”

What made her so certain?

The boy's mind was like a tightly wound scroll unwinding itself, the edge of the page trying to travel past its length to find the first word where everything had begun. It was unmaking, every unwanted memory replaying through his mind, filling his thoughts, ears, and senses…

…break…!

Fragments began to emerge from his nearly liquidated form. They fell in heaps, and struck against the wooden floor as they broke further. His hands gripped the sides of his head, desperate to keep himself together.

He was born from the toughest earth, and yet he was falling apart like glass.

Yet the sharp clink he had hoped for, any stimulus at all to keep him alert, never reached his mind. The sound was muffled, almost cushioned to him. To his horror, there was nothing to distract him now.

With nothing keeping it at bay, the first memory hit like a gong, full-force.

“I was…?” He groaned, mind branching off in all directions. “…I broke myself…?”

The doctor’s eyes twinkled, her solemn expression burning away into cinders as gravitas and resignation hardened into newfound ambition. 

“No way…” she murmured, eyes widening. She got up promptly from her chair, holding her hands up in awe as she rushed towards him.

He hated that look on her face…he was tired of inspiring at his worst moments…he hated it!

“Pray…for happiness…”

His mind was on the verge of collapse, she could feel the strain on the boy’s soul as his body fell apart.

“Keep going!” Ayumu urged, grabbing his shoulders in support as if he was made from porcelain.  “You haven’t seen half of it yet! Look further!” 

“Urgh!”  

“Don’t break yet!” She scrambled, using her hands to keep his shape. “If you do, this’ll all be for naught! Keep at it!”

The “boy” screamed, the last remaining scraps of his rationality fading away…

++++

The ground shimmered with an incandescent glow as countless shards adorned the stone flooring of the school he painstakingly built.

The master’s heart was torn, but he had no right to feel guilty – it was a luxury he didn’t earn. His indecisiveness led to this. He wasn’t good for anything, it seemed.

He could hear the crisp sounds of swordplay echoing through the halls, only to end as abruptly as they began. The sight was beyond horrific – his disciples, his young ones, tore each other apart with the weight of their hubris. Their swords could only do so much when faced with the sheer animosity wrapped behind their wielders. The sounds echoed harshly through his chest, almost deafening, and threatened to unmake him. 

But his soul was unmoved, every bit as unshakable as the adamant it was carved from. He had no room for weakness, no time to temporize. He simply averted his eyes, and kept walking. He knew now, more than ever, what he had to do.

He walked through the towering pillars, enveloped by the cool night breeze that paid no mind to the dust it billowed. It swirled around him, almost taunting, and he could see something shimmering from the corner of his eyes. Harsh and iridescent, dotting the edges of his gaze in radiant phosphors. 

He couldn’t tell if it was the gleaming stars above, or the splintered flakes from his cherished splayed across the meadow. 

Regardless, he could not look. Would not. 

Slowly, painfully, he made his way to his office, where a sturdy wooden table greeted him, borders illuminated by the moonlight drifting through. He traced a gloved hand though its grooves, biding his time for the inevitable as he turned towards the railing. He could hear a mass shuffling about, slow and gelatinous, each footfall accompanied by a squelching, unimaginably wet sound. 

As if he were wading through mud instead of his old home.

He tore his gaze away from the window, and tempered himself – after all, this child had done what he could not. 

What laid before him was nothing other than his son. Changed, different – but still the same, kind child he had known he’d always be.

He was not young anymore, the youth from him evaporated long ago – his single pallid eye held centuries of exhaustion and longing. His heart ached – he remembered a time when he had wanted nothing more for this child to grow up, to finally shed these deluded fantasies of grandeur.

But once that had happened, there was nothing left for him to hold onto. No hope for anything. He let this happen.

“...Master…” the boy rasped, his voice torn and pleading. “I came back…”

All the master could do was stare blankly at the amalgam of mercury and gold in front of him. A small part of him hoped he came for anything else. Guidance perhaps, company.

“I have a job…to make you pray…”

He winced. This poor child came all this way, just for that? 

“Could you please do that…for me?”

He wanted to embrace him, hold him gently and murmur countless assurances, to lighten his burdens and clear the dregs still clinging onto him…give him new life once more…

But he could not move. He wasn’t good for this. 

“I am sorry.”

The boy’s face remained neutral, unchanged. The master continued.

“I must say this again…I have an error. No matter how often I try…the results are never as we’d like them to be.”

The master’s voice tapered off as he spoke. They did not match his invincibility, but his words stayed true. Final. 

“Then…” the boy murmured, rushing towards him limply as his desperation blossomed into rage. “...break!”

The master smiled.

“I have waited so long…” he whispered, reverently. “...for a human to let me know that my work was done.”

CRACK

His eternal, irrefrangible body cleft irreparably, fragments of adamantine disintegrating right in front of the boy’s eyes.

“Thank you.”

His indomitable flesh torn asunder, from the simple words of someone he loved. To be freed so earnestly, releasing the years of brimming fondness he had to conceal. For the first time since he woke, he let this feeling dominate him. It carved his soul, leaving deep grooves. His right eye had fallen from its socket, rolling idly across the floor.

“Take my right eye…” he hushed, as his head fell apart. “And then, just pray wholeheartedly…”

The boy blinked. Pray for what?

“Pray…for happiness…”

++++

The room spun overhead.

He couldn’t keep his balance, waves of nausea crashing over him. What little mercury he had left was spewed out violently, spattering the timber with a sickeningly shiny coating. 

His legs fully gave out as he collapsed, crumpling helplessly across the floor, limbs weakly splayed out in all directions. For a moment, he simply laid there, marinating in his vomitus as the lights in the room danced circles around him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her standing near one of the walls, eyes wide in alarm. Her pristinely white coat thoroughly stained by his hubris, streams of quicksilver weaving through thin polyester strands, corrupting anything it reached…

Ugh…of course.

“Oh…oh, Jesus!” She exclaimed, scurrying towards him.  “Are you alright? Lord, what a mess! Stay right there, I’ll, er…I…” her words trailed off as she frantically searched the room, gaze unfocused. 

She snapped to attention the moment her eyes locked onto a crate nearby. She looked over to him once more, expression twisted in worry.

“Okay, okay, I’ll help you, just, ugh, don’t move! Don’t go anywhere!”

He coughed weakly. Deep within him, his heart buzzed with fondness, even when I’m repugnant…

The boy cut the thought short – he didn’t need any more distractions today. Thanks to that mishap, he was now sprawled against the floor, at the mercy of the doctor scrambling in front of him. His legs hung limply, weak and boneless as though they were made from konjac. His arms, formerly strong and dependable, melted into resplendent puddles of aurum that mingled with the mercury he was steeped in, forming beautiful, alternating spirals of silver and gold…

Another day, he might have found the sight pretty, a way to keep his mind off things. But now? It was just gross. Humiliating.

Just then, the boy heard something heavy scraping against the floor. He craned his neck, only to be met with the sight of the doctor hauling a heavy, odorous bag of who-knows-what. 

“Now, now, no need to fret!” The doctor opened the bag up eagerly, revealing a mass of yellowish powder. The next microinstant, its fumes filled the room with a rank, fetid stench, enough to make the boy gag. “I’ve dealt with mercury before, uff, such a strong odor…” Ayumu retched, covering her nose with a scarred elbow. “It is a hassle to clean, but when you’ve lived a life like mine, you learn it's no trouble at all. Don’t worry, a little bit of brimstone and you’ll be good as new!” she grinned, grabbing a fistful.

He winced, face wide with dread. No way…

“Wait…wait! Plese!” he begged, trying to flee. 

This madman…!

He shoved the thought aside – how dare he think of her that way? But he couldn’t help it. The idea of slathering such filth across his body stirred indignance, hot and young, deep within him. He instinctively flailed, trying to get as much distance between them as possible.

But all he could do was writhe pointlessly, his body was heavy…so heavy…

That gave her pause. She stayed where she stood, her arm raised stiffly. Was she really going to pelt me with that?

“Look,” she sighed reluctantly. “I understand this is difficult for you.” A look of remorse momentarily passed her face. Sympathy. She lowered her arm and slowly walked towards him, fist still clenched. He flinched at the sound of her footsteps.

“It’s alright…” she whispered. “I know it’s a lot to ask for, but I need your trust. I think you deserve better than to rot in your own…how do I say…egestion. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst adversary.”

The boy was torn. 

On one hand, he had nothing but faith in her, no one else matched her sense of loyalty. But someone at the corners of his mind disagreed. Nagging, precocious, cynical.

“Don’t let this creep fool you!” it shouted. “She’s a quack, and she barely knows you!”

It was times like this when he needed to apply discipline. There wasn’t time to dawdle like this. If the doctor wanted to do something for him, he’d let her. Even if it didn’t work out. So he stayed still, and closed his eyes, bracing for the worst.

To his surprise, she made no sudden movement. She simply sat nearby where the mercury hadn’t reached. He slowly opened his eyes as she carefully scattered powder across the puddle, far from his face and extremities. The yellowish dust reacted with the liquid mercury, absorbing it silently and forming a rusty red, granular substance. 

“There.” She huffed, giving him an incredulous glance. “Was that so bad?’’

Huh…?

“Mind if I do the rest? The sooner I clean this up, the better off we’ll both be. I'm in quite a hurry, you see.”

He absentmindedly nodded. Ayumu got up, groaning in exasperation as she hauled the bag once more, cursing under her breath about “increasing phosphorus intake.” None of it reached him – his eyes were drawn to the vermillion coalescing right in front of him. Something about the color gave him a headache. His right eye flashed.

“Things like you…”

He inhaled sharply, another memory hitting him like a bell.

“Can be broken with a mere touch.”

“Agh…!” he flinched.

“Isn’t that right, you pathetic two?!”

Each syllable reverberated against his skull. That voice, full of enmity and abhorrence, made his head pound. Every breath he gave was frantic and gurgling.

Immediately sensing his consternation, the doctor dropped the bag she was dragging, eyeing him concernedly. She crouched beside him once more, gripping one of his shoulders.

“Hey… hey!” She spoke, trying to sit him upright. “Breathe!”

She held the sides of his head, streams of grey running down her arms. His pearl eye gleamed faintly, face contorted in pain as more mercury slid past his jawline. The doctor felt a sharp pang in her heart at the sight.

“I don’t know what’s got you in a twist, but no one’s here, alright?"

He quickly looked across the room, turning his head left and right. True to her words, there was no one around. It was the two of them.

“Whatever you saw just now wasn’t real.” She promised, as his gaze fell upon her determined face. “Maybe it happened long ago, maybe not at all. But not now.”

His breathing slowly evened at the certainty of the doctor’s words. Even the reckless side of him, the one that angrily doubted everything about her, grew quiet. He let out a breath, finally loosening for the first time in millennia. It felt nice.

She, too, began to calm once she saw him regain composure. She stood up stiffly, wordlessly scooping another putrid mound.

“What did this world do to you?” She muttered in disbelief, sprinkling more brimstone. “No…what did these people do to you? Unless...” she eyed the boy sideways, mouth agape in horror. “You weren’t born this way, were you?”

The boy blinked.

“Heavens, I’m sorry.” she winced at her disregard. “I’ve never been the sensitive type…”

That earned her an amused huff. He didn’t know if he was born like this. Didn’t have the energy to wonder. Not anymore.

All he did was listen to the sound of her spreading the sulfur about. Something about the sound of her fingers sifting through powder, or her voice going on and on about unimportant matters… they were oddly calming, restitutive.

A small pocket of time where he didn’t need to think, to fret, to remember. It reminded him of the earlier days when she’d grease his shafts…

...But he didn’t have shafts, did he? 

Did he ever?

Her hands meticulously peppered yellow grains across his body now. Careful, precise. Each speckle formed a new, blooming cascade of red. The dread from earlier fully subsided, replaced with an odd sense of awe. Beauty. After a while, he couldn't remember why it bothered him so much.

Every fret he faced was replaced by the shape of her, her care.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The silence that followed was deafening.

Every bit of his body stiffened imperceptibly –  from the inclusions that resided in his feet, to the ones that danced upon the small strips of his skull unsullied by mercury. He leaned further, a golden hand charily brushing the doctor’s fingertips, her words finally hitting him.

“...what I want…?” He whispered, his eye beginning to brim with alloy. 

“Yes…” The doctor murmured. She gently grasped his jaw within both hands, a stray thumb brushing against his cheek. It swept through the cold mire that clung to his temples, revealing a pale, fractured complexion beneath. She stepped closer to him, raising one arm as far as she could reach, carefully grazing the top of his head.

Her touch was too purposeful for him to ignore – every stroke exemplified her care.

The gold he had tried so hard to contain spilled freely. It slid past the gleaming hills of mercury, beyond the curve of his mandible, weakly clinging to the doctor’s wrists. He knew this was unsightly, that his emotions were clouding his judgment, but he couldn’t help it. His alloy streaked the doctor’s clothing, leaving resplendent, gilded streaks upon her coat.

She sighed, embracing him fully. 

“If your job…” she asked quietly, leveling his gaze with hers. “...means you have to bear with everything on your own, and you’re not ready for that…”

She looked behind her, eyeing the window impossibly out of reach.

“Then maybe you can hold off on it. Take some time to yourself.”

He blinked, slowly straightening.

…What?

“That is-” he gasped, unable to believe her audacity. “You’re asking me to evade the inevitable…?”

The doctor let go of him for a moment, considering his words. She then stood upright, reciprocating his gaze.

“Correct!” The doctor sang, a small pearly smile meeting his bewildered gaze. “Just for a little while.”

Something in him cracked. 

He studied her face in desperation, looking for any sign, any trace of humor or irony in her demeanor. Surely she meant something else, perhaps there was a hidden meaning in her words, or she was jok-

He found nothing. 

She simply stood serenely, innocently tilting her head, a hint of deep amusement crossing her expression. Something old and deep flared within him, indignant and foolhardy. 

“That is the complete opposite of what I should be doing!”

Whether he could see them or not, he felt the Sunspot gradually expand far, far above in the atmosphere. 

He knew why they were here, he knew he’d have to give them what they sought after. Prolonging the matter was foolish. Casting them away in fury wasn’t a solution either.

He knew what revenge had cost him, what it cost others. How his righteous fury burned him hollow. He willed himself to never again fall to such depths. And if vengeance no longer made sense…

The boy tightly shut his eyes.

Then this is the better option…the only option.

The doctor’s smile faded, her look of whimsy replaced by something duller, more reflective. 

“Listen,” Ayumu began, carefully walking across the ruined floor. “If you are anything like my son—” she slid down a newly made incline, skidding to a stop near the bottom. “—time is far more important than you realize, my boy!”

He watched her skate across the unsteady floorboards, her shoes nearly snagging every other footstep. The doctor leaped over every ripple, her prosthesis gracefully lagging across any flat surface as she peeled open every crate, scouring the nightmarish chamber for something he did not yet understand.

He couldn’t help but knit his brows. Of all the times for you to muck around, now?

Even from a distance, he could see her ears twitch faintly, as if his vexation was audible.

“Hey!” she thundered, fiercely prying another crate open with both hands. She looked within it, shuffling its contents about before leaving it aside, standing up in a huff.

“You see me having a hard time, don’t you? Come down!”

He would do no such thing. 

He simply stood where he was, disinterest bleeding through his gaze. It made the Doctor scoff.

“I think you’ve got it under control,” he ribbed, preferring to observe her scramble from afar. 

After a few minutes, she found what she was searching for, pulling out a small, thin, hexagonal-shaped board. She held it in one hand, its backside fully in his view, and the boy noticed the four pegs that protruded from it.

“There we are!” she cried, hoisting it up in both hands as if she were flaunting a trophy.

His heart stilled.

He made that board, didn’t he? 

++++

“Bring Peridot and Sphene to the medic room!”

Across a vast plain, laid a young boy no older than 400.

He had been through quite a rough day, and had acquired a haggard disposition. His black uniform, ordinarily neat and unwrinkled, was now frayed and split at the ends, revealing the mint-green structure he took great care to conceal. His left leg, carved from agate, split cleanly under the strain and laid idly where he sat.

“Ahh,” he murmured, sitting upright on a sheet laid on top of morning greenery.  “Rutile’s waiting for you. I’ll see you two later.”

To the right of him, laid the broken remains of his companions — one green, the other orange — hoisted by his brethren. They took great care not to jostle, carefully transporting them towards Rutile’s office.

“Well done, Phos,” the green one whispered. “You’re good at this.”

He couldn’t help but smile, the words made his heart swell with pride. He raised a golden arm as farewell, watching them leave, before he straightened abruptly. His eyes locked onto a figure seated on the other end of the sheet, his partner, whose eyes met his with blazing intensity. He, too, was quite disheveled, the left side of his face jagged and uneven. His feet had cleanly broken off, leaving dark, sharp pegs in their wake.

The boy crumpled instantly, his waist nearly snapping as he bowed. Ahead of him came a stern, piercing voice.

“‘You did such a great job~’” the voice called, its honeyed words seeping into his ears. “‘You drove us to victory, such an improvement, really, bravo!’ — is what you thought I’d say, huh?”

He heard the sound of clinking fragments. It seemed their residential doctor had started right away.

“Listen here, you.” the figure growled, his eyes narrowing at the boy’s absentmindedness. “The next time you run off without thinking, I’ll break you to dust before the Moon folks ever get a chance to.”

“...I’m sorry…” he acquiesced, alloy spreading across the sheet as he prostrated. “You really are too kind to me…”

His partner eyed him sharply before turning away with a hiss, averting his eyes. Even he could not deny the earnestness of the fool who sat in front of him.

After all, they had all fought together.

++++ 

He found his gaze trailing foggily towards the roof. 

Who was that? He thought to himself. 

That gaze more serrated than broken glass, minerals dark and glossy like obsidian, hair white as frost…who were they?

As he came to, he noticed his feet trailing over slopes and inclines, almost absentmindedly. When his sight sharpened, he noticed a very familiar figure darting right in front of him, pulling on his alloy with her right arm, her other one narrowly obscured from view. When he turned his head to get a better look, he saw her clutching that game board from earlier.

Noticing his gaze, the doctor turned her head and met his eyes with a sheepish smile.

“Oh, do forgive me!” She blurted, walking hastily. “You seemed to be having a…moment, so I figured I'd save some time, two birds, one stone, and all. I'll be honest, I didn't think you'd budge — but look at you!”

He looked down.

Indeed, his feet flawlessly skid across the timber, alloy soles coasting with ease as if he were wading through silk. He tracked his gaze upwards, noting the doctor's fixation on something ahead of them. 

It was that very same table, and behind it, framed a window whose white curtains idly flowed in the wind. As they neared it, he saw a black scar streaming in the vast blue, but before long, the doctor quickly grabbed one of the drapes and pulled it cleanly, obscuring the sky from view. She then sat quickly and clasped her hands on the table. Her elbows made a soft thud.

“Now that that’s taken care of, please, take a seat.” She gazed at him expectantly, her eyes gleaming and a provocative smile creeping across her face. “It’s been ages since I had someone to contend with.”

He reluctantly stretched his gold arm, dragging a nearby chair so he could sit close by. The doctor placed the board firmly on the table, and dumped a handful of geometric pieces nearby, carefully placing each one across the board’s gridded surface. She carefully clasped a vast variety of shapes – circles, squares, lozenges – placing them gingerly across its irregular surface. 

“You know,” she murmured, raising a circular piece and admiring it with fondness. “My son made this long ago. Quaint old thing, isn’t it?” She placed it down.  “I’ve no idea what he meant by it, but he found it quite engaging. He told me that few things were more enjoyable than a game where any move could lead to any outcome… endless possibilities, if you will. Truthfully…” Ayumu giggled, shifting in her seat, ”...I think he just liked the fact there weren’t any written strategies he could draw from, the game was his after all. That aside, the true fun is how there are more ways to tie than to lose.”

He had to admit, it was quite captivating. A battle of wits where avoiding loss was secondary to avoiding monotony.

“And,” Ayumu added, arranging the board to completion. “It’s a lovely excuse for me to tell you some tales from years long past.”

He looked at her sideways.

“I already know tales from years long past.”

The doctor froze. She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it once more.

After all, she was the one who asked him query after query once she fed him large swathes of detailed encyclopedia data, wasn’t she? At least, that's all he could remember...

“...Do you, now?” Ayumu muttered, before clapping her hands before folding then on the table. “Right then, what if I told you some tales of mine?”

His eye widened.

“Some of them mundane, others bordering on heretical,” the doctor continued, “all of which I think you’ll find quite interesting. After all…” Her eyes darted from side to side before she leaned in, whispering conspiratorily, “...I took these to my grave.”

Something about her he never knew before? Interesting.

“But,” she added. “You’ll only hear them if — and only if — you go up against me. Deal?”

The boy closed his eyes tightly. He could leave this place; there wasn’t anything stopping him. But when he remembered the doctor’s words, he found himself at a loss. The future seemed shaky and uncertain, slipping through his fingers like sand…

He took an unsteady breath. His chest turned to lead at the mere suggestion of it.

Here was better, for now. At least there was someone to talk to.

“Alright,” he said quietly. Then, with a bit more conviction, he added, “May the best man win.”

The doctor raised a brow. He frowned.

“...you know what I meant.”

She simpered, pleased with herself.

The goal was simple – corner as many circular pieces as possible.

Both the boy and the doctor took turns, placing down angular bits in succession. The game itself didn’t matter too much; he had played it countless times – what piqued his interest terribly was the anecdotes she shared as she competed against him.

“This next one,” she had said carefully, placing a triangle piece down. “Is how I broke an incredibly old statue of the revered Bodhisattva, Guanyin.”

He sputtered, choking at her brazenness before staring at her with wide eyes.

“Oh, pardon me!” She laughed in response, invigorated by his reaction. She held her hands out in mock surrender. “I know I’m a riot, but please, save the laughter for later. So, this was shortly after I had made my eldest, and I was fresh out of university, itching to hone my craft. To put it aptly, I was incorrigible then, hopelessly stubborn…though I preferred the word ‘tenacious.’”

“Oh, I think ‘stubborn’ works well enough….” The boy said pleasantly.

She glared at him for a moment before settling back into her seat, sighing dramatically.

“In any case,” she drawled for emphasis, “With that first impact, many believed that we, as a living construct, were coming to some sort of end. An uncertain one, beyond the fear of death or oblivion. I knew I had already caused a global catastrophe because of my son…” She trailed off, placing a hand to her cheek as her eyes shut. “He really is a good boy, you know? But I just couldn’t get a hold of him. So when they dismantled him, I snuck out his core components, and took the two of us on a small outing to Shenzhen. Your turn.”

The boy blinked before placing a rectangular piece. “Shenzhen?” 

“Precisely!” The doctor chirped, placing another rectangular piece beside his.

Seems reasonable…  He thought to himself. He knew there was a time, long ago, where such a city was described as the “Silicon Valley” of the East…

“Marvelous place, you know. Beautiful temples, amazing robotics, truly a must-see. At the time, I was under strict restrictions when creating new machinery, so I was sent to Shenzhen to see how they did things. Very illustrative experience. However…”

“However?” He repeated, placing a triangle.

“That wasn’t all I was there for. Back then, I believed that we were headed to some sort of godless, unimaginable roadblock. And, in an era where spirituality and austerity were beginning to dwindle at the height of avant-garde industrialization, connecting to that nonmaterial link was crucial, if I wanted to help humanity reach the next stage of life. At least, that is the task I was given. It may seem straightforward, but there was a problem. Can you guess what?”

He shook his head, waiting for her to finish her turn. He really couldn’t guess.

“Well, I’ll tell you!” She cried, slamming her fist onto the table in indignation and scattering the pieces. “I was a woman of science, you hear? Not some wandering ascetic! I had no patience for meandering in my department, and I had even less for eclectic, religious balderdash!” She paused for a moment, surprised by her reaction. 

He simply looked at her, startled, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Oh! Erm… excuse me.” The doctor said sheepishly, settling back into her seat. “I got a bit too carried away…”

He relaxed, then nodded, reconfiguring the board with a steady stream of alloy.

She sighed, awkwardly clearing her throat. “Either way, they wanted me to dip my toes into technology that was more…psychic-ly inclined. I found it absurd, surely there were better ways to invest in humanity’s future, but my hands were tied. Now, I was already familiar with the core aspects of Dharma and Buddha’s teachings, but they truly wanted me to encapsulate his philosophies. In other words, I was had – I thought I’d be on a technological breakthrough, but instead, I was researching bodhisattvas and reading Chinese sutras.”

The doctor took a deep breath and placed a triangular piece. The boy leaned forward in anticipation.

“One of the first bodhisattvas I was told to learn from was, interestingly enough, the Eastern Bodhisattva of Compassion, Guanyin. Not the Buddha, not Ksitgarbha, nor Maitreya –   Guanyin. I imagine you’re familiar with her.”

The boy nodded, placing down another triangle piece. He knew intimately, the tales of many Bodhisattvas were fed into his memory, and he was left to dwell on their morals.

“And as you know, Guanyin is the eastern equivalent of Avalokiteshvara, the thousand-eyed, thousand-armed manifestation of grace and mercy. ”

He nodded again.

“Long ago,” she began, holding a piece between her fingers. 

The boy cringed, holding his hands in protest. “There’s no need for that, I already—”

“Please don’t interrupt, my dear, this is for your own good! I promise, this will be a myth worth hearing twice.”

He scowled, folding back into his seat.

“A young princess, known as Miao Shan, was scorned by her parents for rejecting her betrothal in favor of spirituality, choosing to live a humble, grueling life as a nun. She faced difficulty after difficulty due to her father’s relentless hubris, but eventually found peace, and began her meditation journey sequestered on a tall mountain peak. From there she sat, gradually achieving enlightenment over the course of nine long years.”

The boy averted his eyes, bracing himself for the second part as the doctor finished her turn.

“Due to the dreadful karma he accumulated throughout his heinous lifetime, the king grew terminally ill, an unyielding plague that stole his life force. Monks and priests came in droves, all promising to cure his ailment, but none succeeded. Until one day, a lone doctor arrived at the palace, who promised a cure – the eyes and arms of one with no anger. He had sent a merchant to find such a person, and eventually, one person fit the tally. They gladly agreed to the terms, gouging out their body parts for the King’s sake — and when he recovered, he wished to meet his savior. Only to find his daughter, eyeless and armless, greeting him with a humble, painful bow.”

He hesitantly placed a rectangle down.

“Tears spilled from the man’s face, unable to comprehend why she made such a sacrifice for a vile creature such as himself. And from his confession, she had said, ‘Having given up these mortal eyes, I shall see from diamond ones….’”

The doctor placed a circle down, eyeing the boy intently.

“‘And having yielded these mortal arms, I shall receive golden ones.’”

From those words, came a long, almost unbearable silence. He couldn’t bear to take his turn, holding tightly onto the piece he held. His head brimmed with words, but none escaped him. Finally, the doctor broke the silence.

“Frankly,” she sighed, pressing a hand to her temple as she leaned back. “When I read that story in full, my jaw almost popped out of its socket. I almost exploded.”

He couldn’t help but ask.

“Why?”

It was a beautiful, legendary story about enlightenment and sacrifice. By saving the King’s life and overwhelming his heart with remorse, only then could he hope to wipe away his bad deeds and begin a truly virtuous life. And for her deed, Miao Shan was rewarded and given a form that allowed her to save even more, delaying eternal nirvana to help those who needed guidance.

So, he asked himself, clasping his hands on the table as he studied the doctor’s agitated expression. Why is she so irate?

“I see that look.” She spat, hastily looking to the side. “Remember, this wasn’t long after they dismantled my son for letting the meteors hit. So, when my managers dropped the story of Miao Shan on my lap, a story of a daughter facing countless pain and challenges only to ascend at a truly selfless act, I knew what they were trying to tell me. It was clear as day. For my youngest, they wanted me to make him just like Miao Shan. Virtuous, selfless, free of anger, and boundlessly wise. They saw my other child as nothing but a nuisance, irredeemable trash that couldn’t fulfill his purpose. They wanted me to turn my boy into a machine not only in appearance, but in spirit. Loyal, wise, unable to do anything he wasn’t coded for, who has to endure endless suffering for the sake of others. It drove me mad.”

“...and then?” He asked, cautious.

“And then…well…” She turned her head to the side, averting his gaze. “I went to a small temple early in the morning, somewhere in the city. I walked past the entrance, taking my time to gaze at an enamored statue of Guanyin herself, sitting idly on a pillar. The grounds were mostly empty that day, so after I gave my respects, I walked around slowly, marveling at some mineral murals and gilded relics. When I was done, I left without ceremony, about to give the statue my farewell. One of my coworkers came to pester me. I can hardly recall what they said, but I do remember balling up my coat, and throwing it in response to their brazenness. Needless to say…”

“You missed, and hit the statue that warmly greeted you.” The boy said with a sigh, wearily closing his eye. 

She winced.

“To be clear!” she warbled defensively, reflexively slamming her hands on the table once more. “I regretted it the moment it began to topple! After all, it was naught but an unfortunate bystander. I offered to fix it with lacquer, and I am sure it stood strong until the end of our days.”

“...mhm.” He hummed with a faint, fond smile, nonchalantly setting up the board once more. “I’m sure it did.”

“Why you—!” She shrieked.

And despite his mild amusement – or what the doctor called ‘brazen affrontery’ - they went on regardless, placing shapes and weaving tales with no care for what they’d soon face.

And far off in the distance, with each millisecond that passed, a Sunspot only continued to carve black streaks into the skies far above…

Chapter Text

Far away, enveloped by the umber depths of space, laid a bespeckled gray dot. And from that dot’s surface, rang the echoes of a thousand voices, each one as resplendent and loud as a brass church bell. 

And on that surface, laid a variety of houses, each one slightly stepped and recursive, as if pyramid shaped masses were extracted from their exteriors. And among such bizarre architecture, stood a tall mausoleum that dwarfed the rest. It was embroidered with a vast array of shapes and sculptures, minarets accentuating its borders. A young girl flit across one of its great halls, her heels clicking against flawless marble flooring. She weaved through pillars and large archways with ease, each and every dimension of this place well-accounted for. Despite her haste, she was flanked on either side by a large array of royal attendants, desperately hustling and dashing about just to follow her speed.

“P-Princess!” One of her plump courtiers cried, holding a vast assortment of dresses after a failed attempt to get her ready. ‘Please, slow down! The Lord will be with you shortly. Shouldn’t you get ready first?”

“Yes!” Another one agreed, nearly stumbling as they rushed towards her with an open box of necklaces. “I’m sure if he were here, our Prince would tell you to enjoy tonight’s festivities.”

The princess shrugged off their words with a sharp click of her tongue, continuing her search as she blew through corridors like a raging tempest.

Good heavens, where is he? She thought to herself, leaping over a dark velvet settee laced with silken tatting. He’s going to be late – that rogue!

She was still in her leisure wear – just a simple petticoat, its folds curled inwards to give it the pillowy likeness of a hydrangea.

"He'd never want you to miss out because of him. Please, enjoy the festivities." Another one beckoned.

Her steps slowed, then stopped all together. She stood upright, turning around slowly and regarding her swarm of confidants with the grace and poise befitting a regal figure such as her.

“I believe you are aware,” she began, clasping her arms, carrying herself with elegance as she spoke eloquently. “That this is one of the last nights we’ll be spending together, yes?”

Her entourage stiffened, nodding nervously.

“I know he's tending to things, but he's spent enough time glued to his machinations. Today, he will enjoy himself — whatever hole he's in, I'm getting him out of it, no matter what! Is that clear?” 

They looked at each other, lost on what to do. Beads of sweat seemed to form on their pearly, wispy complexions.

“U-understood, Princess.” They all but stammered, bowing profusely. She angled her chin upwards, tilting her gaze to peer at them. Then, she clicked her teeth once more, turning on her heel. They followed her without another word.

She found her way down a flight of stairs, into a vast, misty chamber. In the center, laid a concentric ring – three circles laid on top of each other, each smaller than the one below, intended to propel whatever stood upon them. Many technicians shuffled about, shifting vast piles of paper amongst themselves. In the center of their bustling, stood a tall, imposing figure, holding a cup in his right hand. He remained rooted to one spot, opening and closing several holographic projections, dust wafting across the floor as they worked. Behind him loomed a massive screen – a hazy monitor that displayed dark, murky hands coalesced with the green grass below, lacing the blades with gold as they melted into the landscape. The figure paid no mind to the view. He turned to her languidly, taking a leisurely sip from his mug.

“Oh. You’re here.” He said simply.

Indignance instantly flared deep in the Princess’ chest. Her cheeks began to flush by minute degrees, gritting her teeth as she took a long, deep breath.

Her attendants instinctively braced themselves.

“Don’t you ‘oh’ me!” She shrieked, hopping over to him in an instant. “Where were you?! I told you a hundred times over that the party was tonight!”

She cast a fraught glance at his attire, jaw dropping in outrage as she circled around him. Nothing he wore was appropriate for today – his chest was completely bare, only sporting a simple shawl draped across his arms and right shoulder, a pleated robe billowing outwards being the only thing covering his legs. While the bareness of his flesh was somewhat mitigated by his jewelry — pearl and golden necklaces luxuriously adorning his neck and shoulders — to the Princess’ royal gaze, it was far from something he could wear in public. Not today. 

“Just look at you, you can’t go out like that! For heaven’s sake, give the work a rest and put on some actual clothing!” She cried out in dismay.

His mouth quirked upwards. Not quite a smile, but close.

“You worry far too much, dear.” He had said, scooping her into a firm, but fond embrace. It did little to soothe her fury.

“I do not worry too much!” She protested, squirming in his arms. “I leave you for half a day hoping you’d at least get dressed, and you spend it inside, half-naked! Please tell me you’ve got something decent to wear for tonight. Please!”

The man simply smiled, laughing faintly as he bent down to give a faint kiss to her cheek.

“Don’t fret,” he murmured, gently mussing her hair. “Go get ready first, I’ll be there soon. I promise.”

She nearly melted at the care in his touch, but had to stand tall – canoodling could wait until later. She puffed her cheeks, briskly turning her head to the side as she gently wrenched herself from his arms.

“Fine.” She grumbled half-heartedly, spinning on her heel once more before walking away. “But don’t forget, we’re going as a pair, and that’s that! Go get ready, I'll take care of everything else.”

The man laughed gently.

“Oh, I’ll be sure not to forget.”

The Princess then hopped with a spring to her step, her gait lively yet graceful. She raised her hands and gave her entourage a quick clap in dismissal. They bowed at the tall figure she had just greeted before making their departure, shuffling after their master. 

“Good heavens,” she grumbled again, taking the steps two at a time as she exited. “I hope I didn't make them wait for too long…”

He took some time to watch her exit, before turning to one of his confidants. 

“His condition?” He asked, walking off the circular platform as he prepared to leave.

“He’s as stable as ever, my lord.” The assistant responded. “He should be going through the last scraps of Kongo’s memory.”

~~~

In a flawless dressing room carved from the finest timber, a young tailor rocked his heels. His fists clenched in anticipation, holding back the urge to smooth his hair. His fellow designer, a timid young woman with a messy hair bun, clasped her hands nervously. They were both chaperoned by a short, bespectacled seamstress, who simply stood idly as the three of them waited for the Princess’ return behind closed doors.

“Now, Beryl.” The seamstress said softly, facing the tailor. “Tonight will be exquisite, a day to celebrate three million. Whatever we do, we must make the Prince and Princess shine. Today, they will sparkle with enough iridescence to blot out nearby stars. It is our duty to make them glow, to make them brilliant! Understood?”

The eager one, Red Beryl, nodded eagerly. His fingers itched with the desire to create.

“And Kima,” She continued, turning to her highly-strung student. “Loosen up, my dear! This is the culmination of all our years of service, all our hard work. Enjoy it!”

The nervous one, Kima, straightened up promptly. A shy smile began to widen across her face.

Then came the sound of heels clicking across flooring. In one swift motion, the doors were opened, revealing the gleaming splendor of the monarch they loved to serve. She stood upright, as unmoving as a cliffside. Her posture echoed dignity and sovereignty, rays of light framing her divine figure, her cohort ensnared by her orbit. Then, as if a switch was flipped, her expression brightened.

“Quieta!” She called elatedly, rushing into the dressing room. She turned to Beryl and Kima. “I’m happy to see you all one last time before the event. It’s truly been wonderful having you.”

Kima’s eyes began to water with joy, while Beryl felt his chest fill with pride. Quieta returned the Princess’ bow. “Thank you, Princess. It’s been an honor serving you.”

“Well!” The Princess clapped in excitement. “I doubt you’re here with nothing to show for it. I do admit, it’s a bit unanticipated to start fitting me the day of the event, but I suppose you needed the extra time. Give me your best shot!”

The two designers looked at each other briskly before scrambling to the side and opening box after box. They approached the princess, their arms full of dresses and accessories

“Tonight, Welegato…” Beryl said confidently, his eyes brimming with vigor. “We’ll make you the star of the show. Just wait.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Kima shyly agreed, holding white blouse, extra care taken not to wrinkle it. “No matter what, I’m sure no one will be able to take their eyes off you, or Prince Aechmea…”

The Princess’ grin grew at their affirmations, but she kept herself stiff. She was a ruler after all, she couldn’t let her head swell too much.

“Speaking of which, where is the young man?” The old seamstress, Quieta, had asked, squinting her eyes as she looked across the room. 

That gave them pause. The two straightened imperceptibly, casting a wide gaze over the dressing room. Surely enough, the Prince was nowhere to be seen.

“That is odd,” Beryl remarked. “Where’d he go? He's the man of the hour!”

Welegato crossed her arms, letting out a sharp snort as she shook her head.

“He spent the whole day in his office. Honestly, don’t expect him to be here soon, he’s-”

“I am what?”

A resonant voice echoed across the room. All three artisans bowed as Welegato’s head snapped to face it, her eyes widening. Lo and behold, the Prince leaned on the edge of the doorway, passing an amused glance at his subjects. He walked gracefully towards them, as the Princess’ posse parted like the Red Sea, making a clear path for him. A white kaftan draped modestly over his shoulders, an embroidered sash wrapped across his waist.

“I hope I am not causing an intrusion,” he drawled in gaiety, his smile widening at the Princess’ gobsmacked expression. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not at all, my lord.” Whispered Kima.

“In fact, we were just about to get started.” Beryl said with a grin. “Please, make yourself comfortable! We’ve got a lot of outfits to try on.”

Welegato nearly short-circuited.

“I just left you!” She cried. The Prince walked wordlessly to her side, pressing a lingering kiss to her temple. “When did you get here so quickly?”

“I left not long after you did. I told you I’d be there soon, didn’t I promise?”

The Princess grit her teeth, resisting the urge to throttle him. I swear, he’s too relaxed for his own good–!

“Besides,” he added languidly, casting a fond glance over the tailors. “You were right. Tonight is a very important occasion.” He curled forwards, murmuring into her ear. “So, we need to look our best, yes?”

His whisper caught her off-guard, her pearly skin flushing a deeper shade of orange. 

“Alright, alright!” She pushed the Prince away half-heartedly, him letting out a mild chuckle in response while she desperately tried to hide her tinted cheeks with a raised hand. “I’m sorry," She said briskly, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. "It appears he’ll be here after all. Are you all ready?”

Beryl and Kima nodded eagerly. Quieta straightened.

“We’re ready when you are, your Majesties.”

And despite her indignation and embarrassment, she couldn't help but lean closer to him. The Prince's eyes softened as he gently wrapped an arm around her waist, calmly watching the tailors lay out outfits for their perusal. Today would be wondrous.

~~~

Not far away, a young gent bathed in the Sea of Tranquility, savoring the calm water lapping against his misty form, waves gently sloshing him about. He was always drawn to liquid, it was his home once his job was done — but now, with his airy form, he could enjoy being submerged whenever he wished.

​

He glanced at the vast night sky, at the beautiful blue sphere he once loved. A pit of longing opened within him.

​

Perhaps he didn't miss the stress. But that planet gave him a sense of purpose, something to strive for.

Meeting Sensei at the start of each winter, not having to share him with anyone…

The satisfaction of breaking floes, smothering their screams as they sank into the icy seas…

​

The first bloom of spring painted a vibrant dot of color against the murky landscape…

When the land warmed, and he heard the faint stirrings of his friends, knowing his job was done…

​

He closed his eyes, unable to hide the nostalgia bubbling from within. He had no need for that now. No need to risk his life, no need to hold on so tightly...

Oh, who was he kidding?

​

The gent slowly stood up, water sloshing against his knees. He hastily grabbed his coat, roughly draping a simple tunic across his shoulders as he stepped towards the shore. Wet sand faintly clung to his feet.

No matter how hard he tried, it seems he just couldn't shed his sense of duty. But for now, he didn't mind it too much.

​

He wordlessly walked towards the town square, his sandals pattering against the ground. As he neared, he heard the chaotic buzzing ahead. Lines and queues spanned the square, crowds orbiting around stalls and markets, eager to get their hands on some goodies before tonight's festivities begin.

He stood stiffly at the lip of the square, his mouth agape. He knew today was special, but this was far too much. From a distance, he could see some patrons burrowing beneath one another as if they were gerbils. Nevertheless, he would not be perturbed. The gent took a deep breath and straightened, marching into the cacophony.

​

He pushed through the chaos, squeezing through herds of excited shoppers before losing his balance. The jam was almost unbearable. Mass of patrons reaching forward, their sinewy limbs poking, prodding, purchasing whatever they could get their hands on. After trying to wriggle through a particularly tight spot, his leg caught on something.

​

He collided with the shopper in front of him, his fall softened by something voluminous. Was it hair?

​

“H-hey! Watch where you're going! Some of us are in a hurry, you know!” A bright voice ahead of him hissed. As he sprawled against the floor, he felt his hand graze against a plastic bag, multiple in fact, all strewn across the marble flooring.

​

He sat up instantly amidst the chaos, guilt flaring in his chest.

​

“Oh, I'm sorry! I should've been more careful!”

​

He straightened the best he could, his vision swimming due to the impact. The figure beneath his feet rubbed its head for a moment before sitting up, looking up at him dazedly.

​

“Antarc?” They called. “Is that you?”

​

He froze. His eyes sharpened, noticing the figure in front of him.

​

“Melon?”

​

Melon leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Antarc's willowy frame. The force of his embrace nearly cleaved him in two.

​

“Antarc!” Melon cried in excitement, bulldozing him in a vast hug. “It's so good to see you! How've you been?”

​

He couldn’t help but let out a breathy chuckle.

​

“I've been fine, Melon. Perfectly fine. I see you've been shopping?”

​

Melon released him, nearly gasping at his words, scrambling to collect his bags. When he was done, he faced Antarc, his arms wrapped in twine handles. The gent took a look at the young lad in front of him, squinting his eyes at his luminescence. After all, Melon always enjoyed bright clothing.

​

His hair was unadorned and immense as ever, long and lush. It billowed outwards, barely kept in check, slightly misty at the edges. He wore a frilly crop top knotted in front, his waist decorated with various plated belts and accessories that gleamed strongly in the sunlight. 

​

Before he knew it, they were trapped within the rampaging crowd, drifting back and forth as the two struggled to keep their balance. Eventually, Melon grabbed onto Antarc to keep them together, wading through the horde.

​

“It's a battlefield out here, let me tell you,” Melon grumbled, weaving through alleys. “Everyone's been in a rush to buy the best goods for the party tonight.”

​

Antarc gave him a sideways glance as he was helplessly tugged along.

​

“So," he replied smoothly, "just like you?”

​

Melon turned his head and gave him an unapologetic grin.

​

They walked for a while until the crowds began to thin. A small corner of the square, still full of customers, but not nearly as congested. They leaned on one of the market stalls, taking a moment to catch their breath.

​

“Soooo?” Melon crowed, tilting his head. “What’re you doing over here? You don’t seem to be shopping, and you weren’t heading home…”

​

Antarc blinked. “I wanted to go see our Master.”

​

“Ooh, you wanted to visit Adamie? You know him, he’s always at the temple these days, heaven knows what he does there. But if you’re gonna go there, be quick about it! The party starts soon, and you know you can’t go in a bathrobe!”

​

The gent couldn’t help but redden at Melon’s words, shyly pulling his robe downwards. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t go see the Master like this…

​With that, he dove headfirst into the crowd, racing across the square. He was sure the Master could wait until after he was sufficiently dressed. 

Chapter Text

After a quick change at his condominium, the man sauntered across busy streets, listening in on what everyone was buzzing about. 

A new dress here, a partner here, decorations here — more or less a repeat of what he'd been hearing the past several weeks. He couldn’t help but skip to their rhythm, hopping to every word and uttering echoing through his terrace. The past millennia softened the militaristic young man, opening his eyes to a new, bombastic way of life. He became brighter, more convivial in ways he thought impossible – and why wouldn’t he? Time was a river that softened the toughest of spirits.

Nevertheless, old habits died hard. His steps mellowed until they became muted, forcing a familiar rhythm as he kept his arms firmly pinned behind him. The night sky was as unchanging as ever, and as he walked along, he couldn't help but cast another glance at his old home. It hadn’t changed in the slightest – still a luscious, vivid blue dot painted against an eigengrau canvas, but his heart twisted all the same.

If all went well, he could see it one last time, but the thought left a deep ache in his chest. 

There'd be no time to admire its beauty, really, hardly a minute. A mere blink of the eye. 

While the moon had its benefits, its sky too, never changed – he could never enjoy the warmth of spring cloaking bitter frost, for the lunar sky stayed imperishable and forever lasting.

Before he knew it, he found himself listening to the soft sound of crisp grass beneath his feet instead of cold, iridescent marble. Instead of the gleaming, stepped architecture of the capital, the temple displayed muted colors of brown and green, variegated by age and wear. 

He curled his head upwards, its roofs vast and deep-eaved, wooden beams and engraved tokyō supporting its edifice. As Antarc walked past the entrance gate – a sturdy, two tiered sanmon battered with scripture of an ancient language – he marvelled at the intricate, symmetrical architecture that his Sensei must have found endearing. In stark contrast to the gleaming ivory floors and ardoise lunar sand, this small area of grass and wood felt… alive, telluric. 

Aged and imperfect, sitting crookedly in a small field of foliage, earthy shades of taupe bleaching through fawn timber. He made his way to the mouth of the structure, hesitating before its steps.

Looking at it now, it was already worn down despite Sensei’s upkeeping. In a day after tomorrow, a hilariously short span of time, they’d be oblivion. Nothing but wisps diluted in homeopathic seas of space and energy. 

Who’d take care of it then? 

When he looked upon this temple, the small seeds of life and history it kept…

He thought it deserved better. 

And with that, came some other thoughts.

Destroying themselves, merging with whatever came after…was that really it? What they all had hoped for? 

Perhaps the moonfolk craved death, but Antarc was quite happy with his life as-is. They all were. The gems were built to last, a few thousand years meant very little to them – but to the Lunarians, who were once part of an ancient, mortal race, even a century could seem unbearable.

No matter how long they lived, how much their days bled together, they’d only have their old lives to go off of. If it weren’t for the Lunarians forcing tragedy upon them, the gems could have comfortably lived for hundreds of thousands of years.

He couldn’t help the scorn bubbling from within him.

So because they’re sick of living, he thought bitterly, they’ll drag the rest of us with them?

How weak-willed.

Antarc shook his head. It didn’t matter. None of it did.

He climbed the stairs and entered the temple. He took long, slow strides, noting the pitter-patter of his steps rapping against solid wood. As he walked, he heard voices upahead, shrill and ridden with anger. 

“You can't be fucking serious!”

He was halted by the sound of a sudden, impertinent cry. It echoed through the temple’s thin walls, and Antarc found himself frozen in place. 

Was that…?

He began walking again, steps quicker, and carefully opened the door to the prayer room, looking downward, poised to pardon the intrusion.

“Excuse—"

His words died when fully pried the paper door open. Far from him, in the center, he found two shimmering forms prostrating where they sat – one with flowering, voluminous hair like Melon’s, the other with a wispier and shorter cut, much like his. Their heads lightly pressed against one of the many tatami mats spread out across the hall.

If they heard Antarc come in, it didn't matter to them. 

Behind them, was a towering, broad figure. While the figures were dressed sparingly, covered in simple robes, he wore a heavy, lightly colored jikitotsu, wide sleeved and billowing outwards as he stood still. On top of it, laid a rectangular kesa, patched and mottled and white as ivory, draping from his wide shoulders down to his ankles. His head was unique – baldpated and free from accessory. To the right of him, stood a tall and lanky figure similarly adorned. The temple director, perhaps?

“I am sorry.” Sensei intoned. His voice, deep and resonant, echoing through the thin wooden walls. “I can't help you.”

The flowery one grew rigid.

The second beggar, the one with short hair, pressed their head more deeply. “I beg you, Sensei!” He cried, nearly burying his face in the matting. “You have to do something!”

Hearing that plea, his partner sat up fiercely, glowering. “Stop with the pleasantries, Goshe!” He hissed. “We don’t have time!”

“Morga…” his teammate warned.

“This is not the place.” Kongo begged, his eyes downcast. “Please…”

"How can you stomach these scum, Sensei?” Morga demanded, facing Kongo. “Everything these bastards did, the things they killed and tortured and grinded to dust, how can you still swallow the garbage they spew?”

Antarc kept himself still, his stance steady. It wasn’t his place to interfere in squabbles like this.

“If this is about Phosphophyllite…” the temple director mused, keeping an even expression.

Kongo raised a hand in warning.

“...then don’t worry, we'll leave them in good company.” The director finished with a smile. “The lord will ensure it.”

The room grew silent. Kongo pressed a hand to his temple. Even Goshe, level-headed as he was, had his jaw dropped in disbelief.

“That’s your best excuse?!” Morga roared in dismay. “‘He’ll be in good company?’ Bullshit! How the fuck do you know, why would you even care? He'll have nobody, you hear me? No one!”

“What would he need people for, after everything? He doesn’t have to stay on Earth, he can journey the cosmos to his heart’s content…”

“You loathsome, self-important, aggrandizing piece of—!”

“That’s enough!”

Antarc’s ordinarily flawless stance became unbalanced, his form misting at the edges. He nearly stumbled backwards, anchoring himself as the temple walls bent, unable to withstand the resonant voice rumbling through aged foundations. The two in front momentarily dissipated, their shimmering forms almost dispelled into mist as they fell backwards. The most unlucky of them was the temple director. He dissolved entirely, fading into fog the moment Kongo had spoken. 

After finding his balance, he looked towards the chamber with wide eyes. Kongo had always had monstrous strength, but he had never seen him lose his temper this way. He had no idea Sensei still possessed such power after all these millennia. Looking at his Sensei now, for just a moment, he didn’t see the hunched, quiet man who prayed in solitude – he saw someone who was upright, unmovable and unrelenting, his ordinarily relaxed gaze becoming something cold. 

The two beryls, Morganite and Goshenite, were even more perplexed, their eyes wide with fear as they nearly burst into smoke. The brash, flowery one creeped backwards on instinct, legs flailing and eyes wide with panic, while his short-haired teammate raised a shaky arm in self-preservation, scrambling feebly against the mat. Their forms barely managed to solidify, wisps clutching to other wisps in desperation, gradually collecting themselves until they became whole.

Kongo softened at the sight. 

“Ah.” He breathed, his face showing the slightest hint of a wince. He sheepishly covered his mouth with a hand, looking downwards in shame.

It was an unbelievably awkward atmosphere, but that was to be expected in times of distress. Antarc relaxed once more, resuming his stance —

Only for the temple director to materialize right in front of him, standing a good ways away from the doorway. Clouds of smoke gathered until he was fully formed, and he stood calmly as if nothing had happened. The director clicked his tongue in sympathy, about to say something else.

Only for Kongo to silently raise his hand once more in supplication. Whatever words the director had died in his throat, and he sighed, wordlessly turning to leave. His eyes momentarily met Antarc's, tired and listless, before carefully opening the door further, showing himself out.

Morganite let his head hang low, unable to meet Sensei's gaze.

“We just…” he started.

“It's alright.” Kongo sighed, not unkindly. His words were soft. “I know. I will not stop you from doing what you think is right. But, please… you must accept that I am not the one who can help you.”

Their faces fell.

“But—!” Goshe blurted.

“I know.”

“Sensei, please!” He cried desperately, prostrating on his partner’s behalf. “You’re our last chance! We can’t do this on our own, each time we try, he—”

“Indeed. Aechmea is enslaved to his ambitions. That we can all agree on.” Kongo murmured, a rueful smile on his face. “But if you cannot work around his obsessions, if you cannot outsmart him, you will not save that boy. If I were any less automated, if I was…

Human.

The word died upon his tongue.

“...Then I would do whatever it took. But as I am now…it is not possible.”

Against all expectations, Kongo bowed deeply.

“Please, forgive me. All I am good for…” he paused, the words nearly choking him, “...is praying for your success.”

The room fell silent, as the two looked up at their Sensei's remorse. Antarc could see Morganite grit his teeth.

“Goshe...” The brash one spoke, his head hung low. “We should go.”

Goshenite turned his head slowly, his face tired and distant.

“You were right. This was a bust.” Morganite scoffed with disdain. “It seems they softened him, too.”

His partner sighed. He too, wore a rueful smile.

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

They both stood up, giving Kongo a swift bow before turning to the exit, walking with poise. Antarc saw their listless, vacant expressions. Gazing at some distant dream just out of reach.

He stepped sideways to let them leave, Morganite exiting first. His partner soon followed, and the brash one took hold of the door as he stared at his master before letting out a low, sharp remark.

“What happened to your fucking spine, Sensei?”

The door slid into place as the pitter patter of the pair’s steps echoed through the halls.

When Antarc heard the door leading outside harshly shut, he let out a sigh. To think they went this far, in a place like this…

His master lifted his head, meeting Antarcticite’s gaze. With a swift, tired gesture, keeping his arms wide open and inviting, beckoning his student to come closer. Antarc slowly shuffled forwards, stopping in front of Kongo. He angled his head in a polite bow, arms held behind his back.

“Good morning, Sensei.”

Kongo reciprocated his greeting with a wordless nod.

“Good morning, Antarcticite.”

Antarc then straightened, angling his head upwards so as to meet his master’s face. To avert his eyes would be a sign of weakness, of hesitation, and Antarc was anything but.

He was to be as his mineral. Sharp, jagged, and to the point.

“Sensei,” He began suddenly, standing to attention. “I would like to walk with you today.”

Silence.

If this was a few millennia ago, Antarc would have sent various notices to his master about his plans, some of them preparing a few centuries in advance. While hanging out with Welegato helped him kick the habit, he couldn’t help but shed a few drops of sweat at the sudden nature of his request.

Just as Antarc was poised to rescind the offer, Kongo let out a long, low sigh, his downtrodden face morphing into a small, imperceptible smile.

“I would be most honored.” Kongo had said.

And so the two, once master and student, sauntered across the wooden floors of the earthly temple, onto the pale, luminescent lunarian terrain.

Chapter Text

Before long, Antarc and his master had left the hollow timber of the temple behind, superseded by lunarian marble. The wind had picked up since then, kicking up faint plumes of dust and foliage wherever it blew. Trees shook faintly, their leaves rustling as they swayed in the breeze.

The sound of crisp, shuffling lunar sand replaced the harsh cacophony of ivory. Their footsteps left faint imprints in the soil, quickly undone and swept away by eddies of air. Antarc turned his head, watching the marks in the sand disperse in the wind. To him, this was better than any hard floor. The serenity made his expression soften further, the sound of rustling branches clearing his mind from the bustling chaos everywhere else.

He peered at his Sensei, who looked ahead with a neutral expression. It was here when he realized his predicament, something entirely new to him. 

What should I say?

If Antarc was asked this eons ago, before this Lunarian nonsense, he would have broken into laughter. In the chilling frost of winter where all the Lustrous lay in slumber, Kongo wasn’t a man of many words. 

And for the young soldier with a constitution colder than ice? Even less – why would he? It’s not like the enemy made for good conversation. And so, until that one winter when the brat wouldn't sleep, Antarc was never known to prattle. 

But when he opened his eyes, feeling as though he’d slept for a thousand years, everything…changed.

The creak in his body as he crystallized? Gone.

The slick feeling of liquid that clung to him as he rose? Gone.

If anything, he felt unnervingly weightless, as if he was made of air. The azure sky he had longed to see was replaced by stark darkness. And before he even had time to recognize the state he was in—

People. 

His people, far too many of them.

Dozens upon dozens clamoring to check on him, speak to him, look at him. To the stoic young soldier who’d only ever spoken to two, those first few days had been a complete, total nightmare. His conversational ability was lacking, to say the least.

By the end of the first week, all he had wanted was to firmly choke the life out of that curly-haired boffin who led him to such madness – and he very nearly did, countless times. But while Antarcticite was many things – hot-headed, dependable, impeccably dressed – he was not a dullard who’d lose himself to rage. 

Hence, for the years that followed, he kept his bloodlust contained, his annoyance tempered; if only for the sake of his master, who remained steadfast and steady no matter what passed.

So for the first decade, he remained reclusive. Quiet, reticent. He wasn’t blind or deaf to the happenings around him, but he couldn’t find himself adding to the discussion. Despite being a man of near-unending stamina, conversation was truly too taxing on him. 

That is, until the Princess rudely barged into his abode one morning. His brows furrowed at the memory, her agonizingly sparkling complexion stinging his eyes, and that dulcet chatter threading through his ears and all those interweaving and luminous frills-

“Are you alright?”

Antarc blinked as a hand carefully braced his shoulder. He looked up to his right, and Kongo was looking at him, his brows furrowed slightly in concern. 

“I am fine,” Antarc replied, more curt than he would have liked. 

Kongo nodded. “I must say, you seemed a bit disheveled when you came to visit me today. Off-kilter, even.”

Antarc’s mind went blank. He couldn’t deny it either.

Thanks to him!

That no-good mondaine, up to his shoulders in blinding jewelry and cloth-

“To tell you the truth, Sensei, I ran into Melon earlier.”

Kongo’s eyes widened slightly.

“Ah, Tourmaline. How is he doing?”

“Perfectly fine. He was getting ready for tonight…”

Fireworks exploded overhead, cloaking the dark sky in streaks of red and yellow.

“...well.”

“...oh my.”

The lightshow continued, shrieks erupting nearby. Antarc huffed, placing a hand to his temple in exasperation.

“Good grief.”

Did they have to wait until the last day to test them? He wanted to plug his ears as the sky shimmered and crackled like thunder.

Noting his consternation, Kongo gave a small smile.

“Ten thousand years of displays, but it seems a starlit night is always more pleasant, hm?”

Absolutely. 

Antarc nodded fervently. Sensei always understands.

Far ahead of them, a man stood in profile, arms held towards the sky. In his grasp, he held a large camera, taking shot after shot, blinks of light cutting through the harsh umbra behind him. To his side was a shorter and luminous figure, their head cooked to one side as if unconvinced by something. 

It was nearly picturesque, how brilliantly they shone against the starry sky behind them.

“I’m telling you, that one looks good.” The shorter one said tiredly.

“It does not, Zoe. It's dreadful. I can barely keep my hands still.”

The shorter one clicked their tongue in annoyance, lazily putting their hands behind their head.

“Huh, I wonder why?” they mumbled.

“Zoe.”

They continued to bicker for several minutes, each one gesturing wildly as if airing their grief on display. Antarc and Kongo simply watched with neutral detachment.

That is, until the diminutive one caught them, their face slowly brightening.

“Heyyyy, Antarc! How've you been?”

Antarc froze.

“Hi, Blue.” He said in a small voice. “I’ve been good.”

“Nice, it seems you’ve brought Adamant with you, too.” Zoe gave a slow wave. “Hello.”

Kongo gave a small wave in return.

“Hello, Blue Zoisite.”

“Honestly, I should stay home tonight. Officially resign.” The man muttered. “It's not like there's a pressing need for photography now.”

“There he goes again, with the quitting.” Zoe put a hand to his temple in dismay. “Forget about your career for a second; don’t you want to take any photos tonight?”

“I think I do,” Ladra admitted, his eyes half-lidded. “But as it stands, I've lost my touch.”

“Okay, hold that thought.” Zoisite turned to the pair. “You two see the problem, right?”

Antarc and Kongo looked at each other for a moment, then looked back at Zoe, slowly nodding.

“I beg your pardon?” Ladra raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Excellent. Since you two are here, you can tell Ladra how you feel about some of his photos. I think I’m too close to him for my input to count. Think of it as a last favor for me!”

No chance. Was what Antarc wished to say.

Without offense, of course. He had nothing against Zoisite. But this was one of his last afternoons. He wasn’t going to spend it on Ladra’s photo exhibit.

Unless Sensei wanted to, of course. 

That was always the exception.

Antarc looked at him expectantly, his gaze nearly boring into Kongo and collapsing his stoicism.

“Just for a moment,” Kongo said idly.

Antarc nodded. Ladra sighed in exasperation.

“I did not agree to have my work examined…” 

“Shhh!” Hushed Zoe. “Just hand it over!”

Nevertheless, he surrendered the camera to them.

Antarc was spellbound at the quality of his camera lens. Not a single pit of sand nor distant star was left uncaptured. There had been environmental pictures of some craters. 

Ancient lunar architecture Antarc recognized.

A highly detailed shot of a bolide streaking through the pale night sky.

Pictures of Zoisite in frilly outfits-

Huh?

“Hey!” Zoe sputtered. “I told you to delete those!”

“Sorry, I forgot. They are quite nice.” Ladra chuckled.

Ladra pressed another button, wiping them from his camera reel. Most of them featured commissioned photos of gatherings, parties, and general get-togethers.

They were all fairly well choreographed. Which made Antarc wonder.

“Honestly, Ladra,” Antarc sighed. “These are all very nice photos. I think you’re overthinking.”

“Exactly.” Said Zoe.

Ladra wore a complex expression. His eyes knit faintly, as though he were deeply unsatisfied.

“Perhaps.” 

Kongo gave him a thoughtful glance.

“If I am to interject,” He began calmly. “I believe it's no longer about the pictures.”

Zoe's brows shot up. “Then what?”

Antarc looked at his Sensei, interested. Kongo turned to Ladra, who eyed him warily. As always, Kongo needed time to put his words together.

“Are you unhappy,” he began. “Because you are unsatisfied with your skills as a photographer…”

They all listened intently.

“Or…” Kongo continued. “Are you unhappy, because you've seen how photography brings you no joy?”

Antarc froze. 

What a statement. He thought to himself.

Ladra went silent, whereas Zoisite's face morphed into one of grief. He looked at Ladra, almost pleading.

“Is that what it is? You don't like photography anymore?”

Ladra gave him a sad smile, holding Zoe closer.

“To be honest, Zoe, I don’t think I ever have. I simply…”

Ladra held his camera silently, with a wistful expression. 

“...latched into it, the way a starving dog gnaws a bare bone. But now, I think I’ve done enough waffling for a lifetime.”

Kongo spoke again, not unkindly.

“Though time may be running short, I believe it would be wise for you to spend the night with your betrothed. Perhaps you'll discover true fulfillment by then.”

Ladra gave Zoisite a faint kiss to his temple.

In a way, the only part a Lunarian got to choose about themselves, was who they loved. 

Antarc found it displeasing, nevertheless. 

Among the stepped, empty buildings of the capital, far from the lights and smoke, lay a spectre in waiting. He slinked through alleys, hid in shadows, crept through corridors – he kept his movements quiet and brief, not daring to let out a single breath in fear of being discovered.

His short hair gleamed against the solar rays, faint glimmers of ivory appearing and fading as he weaved through tight, caliginous gaps in the architecture. He found his way to a lone metal door, nestled in the side of an alley. He looked both ways before pulling out a keycard, pressing it against a sensor above the door handle. 

The door opened with a faint hiss, and the figure carefully slid into a pitch-dark room, making sure the door closed with a heavy thud after entry. It’d be bad if anyone followed. The dead weren’t meant to be sought after.

He hit the lights, illuminating his quarters. 

Blueprints and schematics were strewn across his condo, with screws and bolts dotted across his floor, metallic bits and bobs left abandoned at odd corners and crevices. Through his hubris, he had transformed an ordinary apartment into an industrial hazard. 

He took off his sandals and walked to his window, slightly parting the curtains. As always, the Earth was as flawless as ever, cloaking his room in faint cerulean. It stole his breath away, weighing his heart in hiraeth. 

It had no right to be that beautiful. The longer he stared, the more he wondered why anyone could leave it.

He painfully pried his eyes away, turning to a lone wooden table that supported a heavy, highly detailed mechanical orrery, its gears twisting and turning as it tediously simulated countless celestial orbits. He pulled out a chair and sat, shuffling countless papers and literature as he waited. 

It had been a while since he spoke with 84 about how sunspots worked, but thankfully, the Lunarians didn’t keep that knowledge under lock and key. He knew the basics – flawless weather, clear skies, a bright sky or a similarly brilliant sunset-

At that moment, came a rapid onset of knocks against the door, the frame rattling in protest. His head snapped towards the doorway as he reached for a thin bedsheet, throwing it above his workspace.

There. Perfectly uncovered.

“Who is it?” He crooned, his alarm fading as quickly as it came. Worry wasn’t in his nature. Not yet.

“Ghost!” Came a familiar voice, annoyingly brash and bright. “It’s us! Are you here?”

Ghost let out a quiet sigh of relief. He walked to the entrance and opened the door, the deadbolt shifting with a distinct click. 

It instantly swung open. Two pearly figures drifted through the doorway, their faces as listless as they come. The door shut cleanly behind them.

“How’d it go?” Ghost asked.

They turned to him in unison. The brash one wore a fading glower, as if offended by the obviousness of his question, while the other simply closed his eyes, too subdued to answer. One had leaned against the wall, sliding downwards until he sat in a heap of his own billowing hair sprawled upon the floor, whereas the other held a hand to their temple in profound exhaustion, trying to find the words.

Ghost blinked. The situation was far more dire than he thought.

“...No good?” He supplied softly.

Both of them stiffened.

“No good.” They groaned in unison.

Ghost clicked his tongue before walking to the table and pulling a chair out. He sat on it backwards, resting his arms on top of the headrest. He eyed them in silence, waiting for them to continue.

“Nothing we said mattered...” Morganite said grimly. “...Shit!” 

He straightened, clutching the sides of his head in despair. 

“Ten thousand years! I thought we could change him, convince him- but he just, just…!!!”

“Just…?”

“...Nothing,” Morga said, his voice hollow as his hands trailed down, resting on his knees. “I just…thought there'd be more...”

Ghost hummed.

“Did he say anything different this time?”

“Nope.” Goshenite huffed, leaning against the wall. “He got mad at us for arguing with the stupid director.” Goshe shut his eyes. “But that was it.”

Typical.

“Well,” Ghost's eyes were downcast. “Sensei’s never been easy to persuade. You two knew that more than anyone, right?”

Morganite and Goshenite reluctantly nodded. Indeed, they both faced the brunt of Kongo’s wrath too many times to count, and they never managed to dent his adamantine philosophies, even on Earth. 

Honestly, to Ghost, it was a greater shock to learn they expected otherwise. But that’s why he liked them. Their stubbornness was contagious.

“So…” Ghost continued, his words trailing off. “Adamant really has become nothing more than a shell. What a shame…”

Though he didn't want to admit it, he too felt heartache. Perhaps they all hoped for change in these last few years…

A flash of blue erupted in Ghost’s memory. His ordinarily calm eyes hardened. 

Awful.

To forget his own, who he lovingly sculpted and raised, made to bear his burdens for a world they’d all left behind. Maybe the gems had no sense of kinship, but what about Sensei?

The Sensei who’d once exploded in rage when his children took needless risks? 

Was that not a labor of love? 

Did he not love them anymore? Was caring too much for him?

“...If he's truly given up, then I cannot forgive him.” Ghost intoned. “Or the rest of them.” 

Happily colluding with Lunarians was unacceptable. It didn’t matter what excuses they gave. To let them reap the benefits of their collective loss…

To willingly forget…

Suddenly, Goshe clapped his hands together. He stood up straight, eyeing them both with a commanding look in his gaze.

“So!” He asserted. “Back to business.”

Morganite and Ghost looked at him, startled.

“What? I think we can all agree that going to Sensei wasn’t a good idea. He's always been stubborn; that wasn’t going to change. I’m sure the Lunarians are pressuring him.”

Morganite grew quiet. Even in the brunt of his anger, he remembered how stiff Kongo seemed. How every word of his was carefully placed, rehearsed even.

“We can’t let our morale fail us now.” Goshe continued, balling his fists. “We need to fight on our own, just as we planned. We’ve depended on Sensei for too long.”

Ghost and Morganite exchanged a glance.

“It doesn't matter how much time has passed; we should never leave anyone behind. If no one else can see that, then it's our job to remind them. Right?”

A glimmer of hope rekindled in Morganite's eyes…

“Right.” He affirmed strongly.

“Well put.” Conceded Ghost.

Goshe nodded. 

After all, mutual dislike of moonfolk helped them move forward.

A beat of silence passed between them.

“...Was that it?” Morga asked dryly.

“I’m afraid it seems so.” Ghost replied smoothly.

Goshe immediately turned his head as he let out an awkward cough. 

His pearly ears burned orange as he walked over to the odd device mounted near a wall. He picked up a wrench, deciding to make some convenient maintenance checks.

“...I’ve said all I need to say.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.” Morga laughed. He turned to Ghost, who still sat hunched over. “Anyway, Ghost, that mysterious bedsheet draped over your desk wouldn’t be hiding anything important, would it?”

Ghost stretched. He stood up from the chair and moved it aside, hastily walking to the workspace obscured by the bedsheet.

“It never hurts to be cautious~” he whistled, pulling the sheet away and revealing countless stacks of papers and a large celestial artifact nestled beneath. “You could learn a thing or two about secrecy, Morgan. Lord knows how Her Highness would have my head if she heard of my countless astrological thefts.”

The pair collectively shuddered. Morganite’s shoulders crept upwards, while Goshenite protectively grabbed his forearms. 

Truly, Welegato was a force to be reckoned with. Despite their previous kinship and subsequent pardon, not even Ghost was not immune to her authority. Nor her wrath.

“Honestly, you should’ve returned it ages ago…” Goshe sighed, gently opening up the machine's hull.

“Nah, to hell with these lunatics, it's not like they miss it.” Morganite reached into the folds of his tunic, pulling out sheets printed with meteorological data. “You might not need more of these, but I stole them from one of 84’s lackeys. They’re the most up to date.”

“Excellent work. Pass them over here.”

Ghost flipped through the pages nonchalantly as Morga leaned in to get a better look. To the untrained eye, the data was useless: just an endless string of letters and numbers corresponding to all sorts of latitudes and times and directions and temperatures. Without technology, it would take someone astronomically patient to sort through such junk.

But librarians were excellent at patience.

He pulled out a ruler and a map of Earth’s landmass from the desk – a small crescent shaped island from which they all had burst from. From there, he plotted where each of 84’s weather stations had been, scribbling their temperatures and pressures above each dot. He then connected each dot with a dot of exact temperature, creating long lines of isotherms that cleanly weaved across the landscape. He then began to demarcate areas of low and high pressure, drawing concentric rings of isobars that cycled in and around and through.

He then took out another, older, marked map, similarly lined. The pair looked at the maps, analyzing their differences.

“Well?” Goshenite called, peering at them over his shoulder as he tightened some bolts. “Got any good news?”

“Good news?” Morganite grinned. “This is perfect!” 

Ghost nodded, resting his chin on one hand. 

On the older map, which caused them much grief, they had found many low-pressure systems hovering above the area they needed to visit. Luckily, the newer map showed most of them moving further upwards, replaced by high, wide pressure currents that would surely clear the skies below and keep winds to a minimum.

It was the best possible outcome.

Ghost took a glance at the makeshift machination Goshe was now fixing. Their technology didn’t compare to that of the Lunarian fleet, so they had to be meticulous. One sheet of clouds could ruin decades of work. One wrong estimation could send them kilometers off course. They didn't have the luxury to be reckless.

“Well, now.” Ghost leaned back in his seat, stretching lazily. “I see blue skies and fair winds in your future. I do envy you, brother.”

“I envy myself, sometimes.” Morganite replied in faux smugness, folding his arms.

“Save the congratulating for later!” Goshe yelled over the shoulder, slamming the hull closed. “Gimme a hand here! The party’s gonna be soon, and we need to have this thing done and ready to fire by the time it starts!”

“Coming!” 

“Understood.”

And so the three of them sat in a circle, tools in hand, carefully perfecting their last ticket to Earth.